“That’ll be nice.”
“Oh, I can’t go.” She forced a smile so he’d know she didn’t need to be comforted. She had called her mother on the way to the airport to tell her she wasn’t coming, and sent a long e-mail to Lisbeth on the flight explaining why. “We’ll be in the middle of the road show.”
“What?” he said. “It’s your sister’s wedding.”
“It’s the biggest IPO of the year,” she countered with the mantra she’d been telling herself.
“Shit.” Callum leaned over to turn out the light. “No wonder you’re depressed.”
“I’m not depressed,” she said firmly, offended by his tone.
“Right,” he said sarcastically, “you’re just on antidepressants as a precaution.”
“You have no idea what it was like,” she said, allowing herself to remember fourteen just long enough to prove her point. “I didn’t want to do anything,” she said. “I just wanted to sit there and be numb. And it was my sophomore year—do you have any idea how important sophomore year is in America? I had to take the PSAT, I had to do AP classes. I couldn’t afford to lie in bed being sad: it would legitimately have ruined all my opportunities, just like getting overly emotional now would derail everything I’ve been working toward.”
Callum looked at her again, but his hazel eyes had gotten sad.
“Don’t pity me,” she said firmly, moving her legs from under the covers.
“What are you doing?”
“I don’t know why I did this,” she said, shaking her head as she stood and looked around for her bra.
“Let yourself almost feel something?” he replied without sitting up. “Get back in bed.”
“No,” she said. “I’m going back to the hotel.”
“Tara, don’t be absurd. I didn’t mean—”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about, okay?” she said sternly. “I don’t have the options you do.”
“To feel?”
“To risk losing control.”
It was suddenly so clear: she couldn’t take advice from him—he had already had his success—he had money and power and he was a man; he could afford to be casual and relaxed in a way she couldn’t. He was totally untrustworthy.
He laughed.
“What?” she snapped.
“Don’t you see?” he asked. “That you already have?”
“What are you talking about?” she said, angry.
“You’ve given all your control over to L.Cecil,” he said gently. “You’re not in control, and you like it that way because it means you don’t ever have to make any decisions for yourself. All that independence of yours, and you’re terrified of the responsibility of owning your own path. You’re afraid you might decide wrong.”
“I’ve got to go,” she said, her voice quiet.
“Tara, wait!” he called, but she was already out the door.
JUAN
FRIDAY, MAY 2; LONDON, ENGLAND
He should be in bed. It was two thirty in the morning and they were leaving the hotel at seven thirty to go to Geneva. They should all be in bed.
But Juan wasn’t tired, and he wouldn’t be able to sleep even if he were. Every time he closed his eyes he thought about Kelly and Robby and what he was going to do if Robby actually went to jail. So he’d gone with Todd, Nick and Beau to a club somewhere in London where he now sat, by himself, on a long sofa at their table, guarding the magnum of champagne and still thinking about Kelly and Robby.
Think about the fact you’re in London, he told himself. Think about how cool that is, and how cool your life is going to be from here on out. But this club was not cool: it was just a bunch of drunk people in nice clothes showing off for each other while the music pounded too loudly to hear what anyone was saying.
“Let me get you a drink,” Todd said to Nick as he led him back to the table and poured a glass of champagne from the enormous bottle.
“I’m being serious, Todd,” Nick stammered, holding on to a chair to maintain his balance. He was wasted. “I’m CEO,” he said, pointing to his chest. “I get to be center of attention, not you.”
“I know, man.” Todd was drunk, too, but not like Nick. “I’m your wingman, buddy. I was just playing backup today. This is all your show. Why don’t you sit down for a little bit?” Todd laughed, unbothered, and ushered Nick to the couch, where the CEO promptly let his head fall back and his eyes close.
“He had a good night.” Todd smiled at Juan. “You doing okay?”
“Great,” Juan said. “Just taking it all in.”
“Sure,” Todd said. “Awesome club, right? They do it so well over here.”
“Definitely,” Juan lied.
“There you are.” A girl who looked like a model tapped Todd’s shoulder and he pulled her toward him, kissing her mouth with the same casual ritual with which he’d shaken investors’ hands at dinner.
Juan scanned the room for Beau. Juan always felt responsible for making sure everyone was okay. He saw the associate by the bar, talking to a girl in short shorts and tall heels that made her skinny legs look freakishly long. Their faces were close, glowing in the purple-blue lights beaming from the ceiling.
Juan sipped his beer and watched. His roommate Julie had hooked up with Beau the last time he was in San Francisco, which Juan only knew because he’d come downstairs the next morning to find the banking associate in their kitchen using Juan’s laptop to recharge his phone.
Juan didn’t get it. Julie was smart: what did she see in a guy like Beau? He and Todd treated women terribly. Maybe if this was the track Robby Goodman, with his eighty-two Hook meet-ups, was on, it was just as well he got locked away and the world was saved from one more asshole.
Juan watched Beau hand the girl a shot and they each took one, squinting at the taste, before she fell into him, pressing her open mouth on his.
Beau led the girl back to the couch and they started making out. Juan shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
It was three o’clock now. Screw it, he decided, standing to leave.
He looked around for Todd to see if he wanted him to take Nick out.
“Yo, Juan,” Beau called from the couch. “You know if those cars are still here?”
The girl smiled flirtatiously at Juan, her eyelids barely open. She was wasted.
“Yeah,” Juan said. “I was just going to go back to the hotel. Do you know her address? I’m sure one of them would take her home.”
Beau laughed. “Why would she go home?” He looked at the girl. “The party’s just getting started, right, babe?”
The girl nodded. Juan stared at Beau: he couldn’t be serious. She was totally gone.
“You’re joking, right?” Juan said.
“What?” Beau tapped his ear and shouted, “Sorry—the music’s really loud.”
Juan sat down next to the girl, opposite Beau. “What’s your name?”
“Fiona.” The girl smiled. She fell forward and kissed Juan. He pushed her back upright. “Where do you live, Fiona?”
“Stop,” Beau said, pushing Juan out of the way. His friendly blue eyes had changed with the booze. “She’s coming with me.” Beau pulled the girl up and they went out the door.
“What are you doing?” Juan said, following him outside.
“Quit being such a Boy Scout.” Beau turned, returning to his confident ease. “Have you never gone out before?”
“She’s drunk, Beau,” Juan said, calm but firm. “She has no idea what’s going on.”
“Of course she does.” Beau brushed it off. “She’s been into it all night.”
Juan held the girl’s shoulders. “Fiona, are you okay?”
“Yeah!” she said, slapping his shoulder playfully. “I’m greeeeat!”
“See? Chill out,” Beau said, pushing him away.
&nbs
p; “Does this seriously get you off?”
“Mind your own business, man.” Beau laughed at him, stumbling, drunk himself, as he opened the car door and Fiona fell inside.
“You think because you’re rich you’re just entitled to everything, don’t you?” Juan felt anger boiling up, and knew it wasn’t just because of Fiona. It was anger at Beau’s casual attitude. At the casual attitude of the rich white men at dinner, the rich white men in the club, the rich white men like Todd and Nick and Beau, who dicked over girls like Fiona and Julie while they lived on the backs of those who couldn’t afford to be so unconcerned.
“Says the guy about to make two hundred million bucks,” Beau retorted, looking around for the driver.
“I’m not like that,” Juan said. “I’m not like you.”
“You will be.” Beau smiled.
“I’ve worked my ass off. You’ve never done anything,” Juan said.
“You don’t know that.”
“You only got where you are because of your parents,” Juan pressed.
“And you only got where you are because of affirmative action.”
“What did you say?” Juan felt his face drain, the blood rushing to his flexing muscles.
“Your education, your job—it’s not because you worked hard any more than my having a job at L.Cecil is because I worked hard. It’s because you’re a poor Mexican from the projects and everyone felt sorry for you. They gave you shit to clear their own conscience, just like people gave me shit to win favors with my dad,” Beau said. “I’m not saying it’s your fault, I’m just saying that’s what happened to you, and to me. We’re not that different, Juan.”
Juan’s fist curled and shot out, landing squarely on Beau’s jaw. Beau lifted his hand to his lip, looked at the blood on his finger, and then laughed. “Except you’ve still got that Latino temper, don’t you?”
The driver emerged. “You boys okay?”
“Fine,” Beau said, his eyes still on Juan. “I was just heading back inside.” He brushed past, patting Juan on the shoulder. “I’ll let you have her if you really want. Easy to find another, thanks to your fine app. See you in the morning, buddy.”
Juan stood for a moment, fuming.
“You okay?” the driver asked.
His voice brought Juan back to reality. “Yeah,” he said. “We need to take this girl home,” Juan told him, “and then go back to the hotel.”
“You sure you want to leave her alone?” The driver looked at Fiona, passed out in the backseat.
Juan hesitated, then shook his head. “Back to the Four Seasons, then,” he said. “She can stay with me.”
It started to drizzle as the car crossed London’s empty streets and Juan looked out the window, aware of his separation from the world outside. He hadn’t seen the city, hadn’t gotten to know anyone here: did it even count to say he’d been to London?
They got back to the hotel and Juan helped Fiona out of the car, wrapping her arm around him and guiding her long legs to the elevator.
“Almost there,” he told the girl, who nodded and smiled.
“Suuuuuuch a fun night,” she slurred, rocking on her feet. “Where did—” she started, then closed her eyes again, dropping her head on Juan’s shoulder.
The elevator doors opened on 4 and Juan blinked when he saw Neha, in sweatpants and a T-shirt, getting on.
“Oh,” the analyst said. “I’ll—” She looked down at the floor. “I’ll wait for the next one.”
“No.” Juan put his hand out to keep the doors from closing. “It’s not what it looks like. She . . .” He looked at the girl on his arm. “It’s a long story. I’m just putting her to bed.”
“Right,” Neha said, unconvinced, but she stepped onto the elevator.
“What are you doing up?” he asked.
“Couldn’t sleep,” she said. “There’s a lounge on four. I’ve just been doing some work.”
The doors opened and they both got off.
“Can I help?” Neha looked at the girl.
“I think I’ve got it,” Juan said, then added, realizing it was true, “but I’d love the company.”
“Sure,” she said. “Not like I’m going to sleep anyway.”
They went back to Juan’s room and he sat Fiona on the bed, where she fell sideways onto the pillow. Juan pulled her up and made her drink water before she slid under the covers.
“Guess I’m on the couch,” he said to Neha with a shrug. He’d been looking forward to that bed—he’d never stayed in a hotel remotely this nice before.
“What happened?”
“Beau just kept giving her shots.”
“Yikes,” Neha said.
“Do you trust Beau?” Juan asked.
“He’s not so bad,” Neha said. “I mean, he doesn’t work much, but I think he means well.”
Juan studied Neha. How did a girl like her stand being around guys like Beau and Todd all the time? How did they treat her?
“Do you ever wonder whether we’re contributing to something bad?” he asked her.
“What do you mean?”
“Just,” he said, “tonight.” He hesitated. “All those men we’re working to make rich. It just made me wonder whether we’re not feeding into a bad system.”
“You just have to remember that wealth trickles down,” Neha said. “You may not like those men, but they invest, and that grows the economy, and a bigger economy helps everyone. It gives people like you and me opportunities like this.” She gestured around to remind him where they were: two kids of immigrants who’d grown up poor, now in a Four Seasons in London.
“But do you think maybe there are other consequences,” he said, “besides the money?”
“I think capital markets are efficient, so they’ll address any consequences over time.”
“What does that even mean?” Juan asked, no longer feigning to understand the financial lingo.
“It means that markets always move to address supply and demand. So if a consequence emerges, eventually, if demand is sufficient to confront it, someone will move to take advantage of that opportunity and profit from correcting the inefficiency.”
“Where does morality fit in?” Juan asked.
“If there’s enough demand for what’s right, the market will create an opportunity that actually rewards the person who does it.”
“I don’t think that happens,” he said, shaking his head. “Doing what’s right is so small, and so individual, it’ll never create enough collective demand to force action. I mean, there is no reward to me for bringing this girl home, and Beau isn’t going to have any consequences for not giving a damn.” Juan felt his cheeks burn. “Do you know he actually had the nerve to say we’re the same? Like I would ever just leave someone out to fend for themselves when I—”
Juan stopped. Robby Goodman’s face flashed in front of him. “Fuck,” he whispered.
“What?”
“I have to show you something,” he heard himself say, moving to his computer. What are you doing? his brain screamed at him. You decided not to say anything to anyone.
“What is this?” Her cheeks paled when she saw the screen, where line after line of user information loaded from the database Juan had never erased.
“I found a database that matches users’ private information with the activity we collect. It’s all here—everyone’s data from the moment they signed up.”
“You’re not supposed to do that,” Neha said. “Per the privacy policy, you have to keep identities masked and—”
“I know, but that’s not the point,” Juan said, typing in Kelly’s name. “You know that girl Kelly Jacobson?”
“Yes,” Neha said cautiously.
“She was on it when she died.” He pointed to her profile on the screen. “And Robby Goodman,” he said, pointing to the th
ree dots on the map of their dorm from the night Kelly overdosed, “was on it, too. But he wasn’t with her. He was next door.”
Neha’s chest rose and fell, and she turned her face from the screen to look at Juan.
His brow relaxed for the first time in weeks, the confession lifting a weight from his brain. He wasn’t like Beau: he cared about what happened to people.
“Why did you show me this?” Neha suddenly snapped. Her voice was angry and hurt.
“I thought—” he started, caught off guard by her reaction.
She started to back away from the computer, shaking her head at it as if she could make it go away. “You have to delete it,” she said decisively. “No one can know. You shouldn’t have told me.”
“But—”
“It’ll ruin everything, Juan. You’ve got to delete it,” she said with more conviction.
“But what about Robby?” Juan said. “What if he—”
“What about you?” she interrupted. “If this comes out and the IPO doesn’t go through, you’re back to being a nobody.”
“But I’m not the only one who—”
“There are too many people depending on this, Juan,” Neha said. “Let the legal system work out whether Robby’s guilty: it isn’t worth the deal.”
“Neha,” Juan said, “we have information that could—”
“Ruin you,” she said. “And you”—she looked for the words—“you have to make it,” she said with determination. “If you make two hundred million and build a community center, you’ll change so many lives, Juan. That’s an opportunity you have that no one else does.”
She searched his eyes and he knew she was right, but it felt wrong.
“But Robby—”
“It’s him or you, Juan. And unlike Robby, if you make it, then you’ve won over guys like Beau and Todd and Nick and all those men at dinner,” she said. “I know you don’t like this system, but you can’t change it by saving Robby. Just play it a little longer, and then you’ll be in a position to set new rules.”
TODD
FRIDAY, MAY 9; NEW YORK, NEW YORK
What the fuck was Callum Rees doing here?
The lunch meeting was by invite only, and Callum had definitely not been invited. It made Todd sick the way men like Callum acted like they were above the rules.
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